


Three Chalion Drabbles

by shimotsuki



Category: Chalion Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-10
Updated: 2011-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimotsuki/pseuds/shimotsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three character studies:  the Provincara, Betriz, and Iselle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Chalion Drabbles

  
**The Provincara**   
_(drabble)_   


The Provincara sighed, watching her grandchildren squabble.

Iselle could talk circles around her brother. She was older, of course, but even at Teidez’s age—or younger—Iselle had already come into a certain quickness of wit and sharpness of eye that was sadly lacking in the boy.

 _The boy._ The heir to the royacy, rather, if that fool Orico couldn’t manage to get his wife with child.

The Provincara sighed again as Iselle tossed her head and stalked off, leaving Teidez in a red-faced sulk.

Well, even her son had turned out a passable provincar. Maybe Teidez just needed a good tutor.

~ * ~ 

  


  
**Betriz**   
_(double drabble)_   


Betriz hadn’t realized how much Cazaril had changed this spring. Not until tonight.

Now she watched him across the dinner table, returned to stiffness by the pain from his fall. Responding to the March dy Palliar’s riveting stories of Cazaril’s own bravery and daring at Gotorget with nothing more than a dry word or a shake of the head, in stark contrast to the wise and arresting lessons he gave the girls on history and politics.

And his eyes scanned the shadows ceaselessly.

Cazaril was pleased to see his old friend—she was certain of that—but something about the march’s visit had turned him back into the ailing, frightened man who had first limped home from Ibra and into the Provincara’s service.

Betriz had known, as though it were a list of facts from one of his lessons, that Cazaril had been captured, enslaved, beaten; had lost all his worldly goods. But she hadn’t really understood, until tonight, how fundamentally his captivity had marked him. Just as she hadn’t appreciated how far he had come in trusting the members of this little household.

She made a silent vow to the Daughter that she would never, _ever_ betray that trust.

~ * ~ 

  


  
**Iselle**   
_(drabble)_   


“And dinners at court.” Iselle was excited enough to have bounced in her saddle if that weren’t such bad form. “With the lords and ladies in their fine silks.”

Betriz listened, eyes wide. “And minstrels!”

“And divines, and soldiers. All kinds of people. Isn’t that right, Lord Caz?”

Her secretary-tutor rode stiffly beside her. “There are indeed all kinds of people at court, Royesse. But not all may be to your liking.”

Iselle wrinkled her nose. Caz’s dark words were no better than her mother’s tears. Older people just didn’t understand how _important_ this was.

~ _fin_ ~


End file.
